There is a revelatory elegance and restraint to that combination; a wink towards chippy teas and scallop and bacon baps. And that sense of play, control and deceptive minimalism is all across the curlicued, handwritten menu that executive chef Ashley Palmer-Watts has been working on since February. Wouldn’t it be fun if we brushed house-butchered rib-eye steaks and lamb chops with the rendered fat from other aged cuts, and cooked them to buttery, campfire-scented softness over wood? What if the chips were lacy, golden marvels, fried in duck fat? And wouldn’t it be a laugh to turn a dish of slow-roasted, buttered carrot nubbins into the delirious, richly caramelised proof of the existence of a higher power?